


Dusty Trails

by HDLynn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Bandits & Outlaws, Banter, Din has no money, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gun Violence, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Violence, Rating will change, Reader Owns a General Store, US Marshal!Din, Wild West/Old West AU, old west au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27248344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HDLynn/pseuds/HDLynn
Summary: "You, of course, had your regular customers. Those who lived in town and further into the countryside as well. Then there were those just traveling deeper west, headed for the promise of riches or that of a new start where no one knew their name. Or there were the larger cattle ranchers who came through when their herds were ready to be taken to market.But there was one particular customer that had always intrigued you more than most."~*~When a familiar US Marshal walks into your general store one day, you have no idea of the adventure and hardships that you both will end up confronting together to protect an innocent child.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin, Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 51
Kudos: 154





	1. Beginnings

You had been running the mercantile all on your own since your father had been buried in the hard ground of the cemetery last winter. It wasn’t a glamorous occupation, but your father had raised you to work alongside him. There was nothing untoward of raising a young lady to help with the store, after all, it was the family business. You had lived with your father in the rooms above the store for years, and the building was both home and your source of income.

The building was solid enough, built with timber that had hazy memories of being bright and yellow when your father had first had it built. The walls had turned a silvery-grey by the sun and wind as the years had marched on.

It was no surprise that the store had become the backbone of the town you lived in. You stocked a little bit of everything all year round here in Shady Rock. From iron plows to sewing needles, linen handkerchiefs to bolts of printed cotton, and fresh produce from the local farms when in season right beside the tins of preserved foods.

And anything that you didn’t have stocked in your building, a farmer or other local business owner could order by mail through some of the new-fangled mail-order catalogs.

You, of course, had your regular customers. Those who lived in town and further into the countryside as well. Then there were those just traveling deeper west, headed for the promise of riches or that of a new start where no one knew their name. Or there were the larger cattle ranchers who came through when their herds were ready to be taken to market.

But there was one particular customer that had always intrigued you more than most.

The first time you had seen him was a bit over two years ago, you reckoned.

The whole area of the territory had been plagued with horrific snowstorms that winter. So when a man dressed in a heavy buffalo coat had come into your store you had glanced at your father in surprise. 

Hardly anyone was fool enough to be trudging around outside in this weather and from what you could tell of the bundled up person they were not local. Even bundled up to the point his eyes could hardly be seen, much less recognized. But there was something about how the stranger stood, how he moved that struck you as just unique to him.

Your suspicions were confirmed as he had carefully knocked off as much snow as he could from his clothing and boots before removing the fur cap and unwinding the heavy scarf he had around his neck, leaving them to dry out with his leather gloves by the stove when your father had rushed to offer the space up.

Each removed layer had shown more until you could see the bold curve of his nose, the strong stubble covered jaw, the dark brown eyes that were wary but seemed to warm up at your father’s open demeanor and the offer of hot coffee.

It was finished off with a mustache still full of clinging frost from his breathing outside in such cold weather, the snow on his dark lashes being the first to melt as he had warmed up by the stove tin cup of black coffee cradled in his hands.

It had been easy enough to figure out his profession then, the round silver star of a US Marshal pinned upon his breast. However, the man seemed to be much more attractive than some of the other lawmen you had seen over the years. Even in the dead of winter, his skin was golden-brown, and even though he had some lines around his eyes and across his forehead, you figured he was probably in his mid to late thirties or perhaps at the very beginning of his forties.

He was just arrived in town, his horse stabled across the road out of the storm, and he was looking for information on the Clampton brothers.

Of course, you knew of the Clamptons, everyone in town, and probably the territory did. They had been wanted in connection to multiple robberies including a botched bank heist in Rapid City. They’d gotten away again that time, but from what you had read in the papers with only about fifteen dollars for their troubles.

But you and your father hadn’t heard much more than anyone else in town about those particular outlaws, so the Marshal had eventually wrapped back up to head back out into the store. He had left with a polite nod and a “ma’am” in your direction, a swirl of snow filling the space his body had taken up in the store just a moment before.

It wasn’t until you got back to helping inventory the store’s stock in this slow time, the scent of herbs, penny candies, gun oil, and the comforting warm smell from the sacks of flour and dry corn settling over you again when you realized you hadn’t gotten the man’s name.

~*~

After that first encounter, you figured you wouldn’t see that new Marshal again. The territory was large and there generally weren’t many who passed through more than once in your town, unless they were local or had business dealings with one of the local ranchers. You were a good thirty miles, as the crow flies, from the next nearest town which was on the train route. So much of the larger businesses were located in Silver City, and often the more seedy characters stayed closer to the busier gambling halls there than coming to your little farming town.

When you had heard the Clampton brothers had been turned in — the one-hundred-dollar bounty for the pair of them collected — you had pretty much confirmed to yourself that you had seen the last of the lawman with sweet dark-brown eyes and quiet manners. It did little good to try and parse if the few spoken words you and your father had exchanged with the man had a slight southern drawl or perhaps a Texas one. Obviously, it didn’t matter much at all but yet… it still intrigued you.

But then he had shown back up some five months later.

You instantly recognized the marshal by his walk, the way he carried himself even as he had walked past the large window at the front of your shop after tying up his silver dun gelding to the post on the street. This time he was wearing a canvas duster, that provided a little hint of the dark grey vest and the white and grey striped shirt underneath. You were sure that he also had a gun-belt slung around his hips as all the lawmen did.

You couldn’t help but notice how the marshal had paused on the boardwalk. Taking a few moments to watch the happenings on Main Street, you could imagine his dark eyes looking sharply even in the shadow cast by the wide brim of his hat.

When his horse had bumped him with their head, he didn’t even hesitate to brush away the black mane to start scratching the steed’s silver forehead. His gloves were an odd combination of brown and a much brighter orange on the fingertips.

Eventually, you were torn from the scene unfolding in front of your store, needing to tend to your customers. Even so, you heard the bell on your door jingle merrily, a gangle of spurs following. You glanced over to the marshal, noticing the gleam of the silver star pinned to the coat under his duster.

He nodded to you and then the preacher’s wife politely before he came to lean against your counter. A thumb hooked into his belt as he quietly waited for you to finish with the preacher’s wife’s order. His mustache quirked in a slight smile as you had asked him how you could help him today. Somehow you were given the impression that he had known that you had been making a study of him earlier.

And thus had begun the pattern you both took up. The marshal would come in every few weeks or months needing supplies you both knew he could have probably gotten from a general store in a more conveniently located town. And every time he left you still hadn’t gotten his name, it got to the point of hilarity after two years of this had gone on. You knew the name of his damn horse by now but not the man himself, you would bet a dollar that he was keeping it from you on purpose now.

So when you heard a horse come up outside and you looked up to see the familiar silver steed and the marshal swing down before coming in the door as he always did.

The marshal pulled a revolver from his side and set it on the wood counter. His gloved hands came to rest heavily on the well-worn edge as he leaned slightly, shifting his weight until one foot rested on the toe of his boot. The dusty silver spurs jangled softly as the marshal tipped the wide brim of his hat to you as you came to meet him after putting your current customer’s payment away in your cash register. The little bell inside the metal beast chimed as you closed the cash drawer.

“Afternoon, Marshal. What brings you to my humble establishment today?”

“I’ve found myself at a loss for bullets after an… unfortunate run-in on the road between here and Silver City.”

“Of course,” you answered easily. You knew your inventory backward and forwards, and years of selling different ammo as well as your small inventory of pistols, rifles, and shotguns meant you knew exactly what he needed. “Colt’s 1873 Model P correct?” You asked even as you pulled out one of the ammo boxes you kept in stock under the counter.

The paper box had a green paper label glued on the top that read “Cartridges for Winchester Rifle Model 1873” in a blocky serif font. The Model P had been made by Colt's Manufacturing Company to take the same cartridge size as the extremely popular Winchester rifles, such as the one you were rather sure was currently strapped on the side of Razor, the Marshal’s horse.

“That’s right, ma’am,” the marshal confirmed.

“Will you be taking the whole box? Or just a couple for the time being?”

If you hadn’t been in this business since you were barely tall enough to see over the counter, you might not have noticed the deepening of the furrow already between the marshal’s brows. That or the slight tick as his jaw tightened for a moment.

The lawman didn’t have the cash.

“I don’t extend store credit unless you’re a trusted customer.” You pointed to the mounted placard on your wall. That particular store policy was the second thing listed, right below no fights inside, and above no expectorating one’s chewing tobacco on the floors. You ran a general store, not a saloon, and you refused to have spittoons littered about the place.

You couldn’t fully hide the smirk, “And I only know your horse’s name at the moment.”

“I just need…” the marshal paused as if to double-check his math. “Twelve bullets. I have ten cents right now, surely you can put me down for a line of credit for the remainder. I’ll have the money for that and more after I bring in the Stone River boys.”

You blinked at the marshal, was he that cocky or just plain stupid? This man thought he could take care of the Stone River Gang with just twelve bullets? There were eleven men in that gang, last you had heard, and when a whole posse of lawmen had gone after them it had ended in a shootout with two injured deputy sheriffs and the whole gang getting away.

“I’ll be back with the money after getting the bounties on the gang.” The dark brown gaze told you all you needed to know though. He thought just himself and twelve shots would be enough, and that he also considered his word enough proof that he would be bringing back the money.

“You have yourself a deal, marshal,” you said pulling out your ledger to open up a line of credit for the man. Not that you thought he would be back to pay up, you figure he’d either be dead in the next few days or find it easier to skip town due to the embarrassment.

Hell, you could get a shot of whiskey at the saloon across the street for fifty cents, so it wasn’t like this was going to break the bank. However, if you finally were able to satisfy some little amount of curiosity about the man you were more than willing to take a loss of 14 cents. Perhaps not the most solid business model, but a lady had to find some fun in her job right?

“So, what name do I put you down for?”

Your wooden pencil was raised over the page and you tilted your head waiting for the answer to a quest that had been bothering you since last winter when he had first shown up.

The blasted man knew it too. The smirk crossing over his face revealed a secret that you hadn’t noticed before now, the scruffy lawman had a singular dimple nestled in his patchy scruff.

“Put it under Marshal Din Djarin,” he answered as he palmed the ammo and the gun.

He touched the brim of his hat, gave a polite “Evening, Ma’am” to you, before turning on his heels and leaving through the front door.

The swish of his duster coat and the soft metallic jingle of his bright silver spurs were what you figured would be the last you saw and heard of this Marshal Din Djarin.

Unfortunate really, that he was so idiotically stupid, that is. You were going to miss hearing that gruffly polite voice every few months or so.


	2. Keep You Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din tracks down the Stone River Gang, he is prepared for a gunfight but not what is in the safehouse.

Din glanced to the sky as inched his way towards the edge of the butte. It was some hours yet till dusk, he had time for this. After all, he had been tracking the Stone River Gang for some time now. He could wait out a few hours if that was what it took to not spook ‘em. They had finally come to rest in this barren area in the northeastern butte lands that crossed over between the Wyoming and Colorado Territories. 

The buttes, isolated hills with steep sides, had been eroded away by rain and wind. Buff-colored layers of clay and sandstone rich sediments sat high over gently rolling plains and prairie. Isolated giants towering over an apparently empty land.

The ground was hot under his stomach, there had been a bit of a dry spell causing the sand and clay soils to burn hot and crack as the prairie grasses had turned brown. It wasn’t quite so dry that the bushes would be following the dogs around, but it was getting close to it. He’d had to leave Razor back some ways to make sure he wasn’t kicking up a trail that might be noticed by the outlaws.

Once he was at the edge of the overlook, Din pulled out the brass spyglass from its little leather case. Sliding it open to its full length he looked down on the scene before him.

There was a run-down house and barn, looked to have been abandoned until recently. There was a good amount of light-grey smoke coming from the chimney on the house currently, though it looked as if the barn was about ready to fall over from a strong gust of wind.

There was also the remains of an old windmill, probably attached to a well, at the top of which Din spotted the gang’s lookout. It was a good position Din begrudgingly gave them, a wide amount of space around the old homestead was clear and easy enough to keep watch over during the day. Come night though? They would only have the light of the stars just like him. There was to be only a tiny sliver of the moon tonight, so it would be like trying to keep watch through a dark cheesecloth.

At night they would be all in the house or camping outside. There was a good number of them, too many to all squeeze in the house. The old farmhouse looked like a two-room situation at the very most if the marshal was reckoning correctly. 

The old corral fence looked to be sturdy enough as he examined it with his spyglass. There were only some nine horses in the corral currently. That left the rest of the gang in play at the moment.

Odd, Din mused. He had figured they would all stay together, not split up.  
  
Hell. They best not have split up because if they had done that a while back he had completely missed that when tracking their movements. It would probably be well nigh impossible to pick up that trail now.

Din took a steadying breath and made himself take a moment to observe a bit more. No reason to be running around half-cocked.

An hour, or so, of waiting rewarded the patient marshal.

A plume of dust announced their arrival as a wagon driven by one man. The remaining gang members were on horseback as they returned to the hideout.

The newly arrived gang members seemed relaxed enough, swinging down from the wagon and greeting their friends in a manner that Din took to mean that they had no idea that he was this close on their trail.

And why would they think that? They had just come off hot from two successful train robberies and taken out a local sheriff’s deputy before disappearing with a whole lot of money. They had been probably laying low, which for the Stone River Gang meant there was probably still a good amount of robbin’ and murderin’ if Din knew these men. He only could hope that they also meant to do a lot of drinking too.

After making his way back to where he had tied Razor up, he ate a quick bit of supper. Forgoing a fire he stuck with the dried meat, some dried fruit, and some crumbly cowboy biscuits he had made the previous night. It wasn’t fine eating, to be sure, but it would keep him fueled and Din hadn’t been picky about such things.

Razor snuffled for some grass he deemed acceptable to be eaten not far away. The silver and black gelding was currently not concerned, so Din took that as a sign that things were safe enough for him to take a little rest. He took off his spurs and settling his hat low on his face as he settled back in the shade of a rocky outcropping. It would be some hours still until the dark would give him the advantage, and he was not about to waste a bit of time when he could be resting.

~*~

First things first. Take out the guard on duty.

It would be a bit easier than he figured. The fool had thought it wasn’t necessary to use the windmill and was sitting at the base of it with a lantern that was on the edge of flickering out. Din was reasonably sure he was dozing off from how his head had bent to meet his chest.

Moving slowly, Din pulled out his Bowie knife. There was only one of him and eleven of them, and all things considering the Stone River boys had already murdered a good twenty law-abiding citizens. Din wasn’t about to try bringing them in alive when he would get the same bounty for the whole lot of them dead.

The guard died with barely even a sigh, Din’s gloved hand covering his mouth as his blade cut true. Easing the body to the ground, Din then put the lantern out completely. The light of it would only make him an easier potential target.

It was only then Din rifled through what the dead man had on his person. He bypassed the personal effects in favor of the man’s gun. It was nothing to write home about, just a mass-produced thing that took .45s. He quickly checked the chambers, Din was relieved to find all six full. That brought him from twelve shots to eighteen. Things were looking up for once and only ten more gang members to go.

Leaving the body for the moment, Din started to carefully make his way closer to the house. He just had to pass the wagon and make a distraction of some type. He wasn’t sure what that distraction would be just yet, maybe set a little fire? That would surely hold their attention until it was too late.

In his dark clothing, Din knew he looked like just a slice of the dark landscape sliding by. As he came to the wagon he paused in its shadow to work on a plan.

Flies buzzed around the back end of the wagon even at this late hour. Seeing as he was rather busy at the moment, Din might have ignored that slight oddly but then he was hit with a breeze that carried the smell of rot and iron. 

Shit. What had they done, Din wondered, a heavy feeling settled in his stomach. He knew that smell and he only knew it in connection with death and decay.  
  
Glancing to the area where the sleeping rolls were all still occupied, he moved closer to the wagon. He had to see what was under the tarp.

Carefully undoing a corner tie, Din looked into the back of the wagon. It was hard to see, but he was rather sure there was blood on the floorboards, the stain large and darker than the surrounding shadows. And there, in the corner, was something a bit brighter.

Din cautiously reached out to pick up the item. He found it was an ornate lady’s hairpin. It had two twisting tines and the filigree of the silver was expensive-looking to his eyes. It was also splattered with blood.

A crunch of sand and gravel snapped Din from his dread over the small object.

“Liam, the fuck you doing with the wagon? You’re supposed to be keeping watch, you fiddlehead.”

Slipping the hairpin into his jacket pocket, Din casually turned around. Keeping his hat low, he slowly moved to rest his palms on the butts of his revolvers.

“Lantern went out,” he drawled.

“Hey, you’re not-”

The gang member didn’t get to finish before Din had drawn and shot him right in his center mass.

The man fell like a sack of rocks, and not a few seconds later, Din heard the rest of the camp starting to rouse in confusion over the gunshot.

Some of them must have been sleeping with their guns though. Shots rained down around him, little explosions of sand and stones kicking up as a result.

Dropping to the ground, Din took cover under the wagon. From the new vantage, he didn’t even think as he sighted down the barrel of the gun he had taken and shot three of the outlaws.

Damn, he was getting sloppy. Six rounds on three men? Disgraceful.

He tossed away the purloined gun since it was now empty.

“Come on, Djarin,” he muttered to himself before taking out the idiot who was lighting a lantern.

Easy target and just one bullet for that one. Perhaps the other gun just wasn’t as accurate as his own, Din mused.

“Bastard’s under the wagon!” a voice yelled out.

Din rolled in the dust, barely being missed by a hail of bullets that hit the area he had just been.

Hearing someone running behind him, Din popped into a crouch in the shadows and pulled out his revolver. The figure was just barely visible as Din took one and then two shots as he also ducked to the side.

He saw the man’s surprised face in the short momentary flash of light from outlaw’s gun discharging at the same time. He didn’t have to see he had hit at least one shot true when the outlaw crumpled down into the dust.

“Thomas, put that fucking lantern out! That sonofabitch is picking us off like fish in a barrel.”

The marshal bit off a laugh. The outlaw wasn’t wrong. The light of the lantern made it easy enough to shoot from the darkness.

Someone moved to get the lantern, most likely Thomas if Din was to hazard a guess. He shot them easily enough, it was a good shot that one.

The one who had been yelling at Thomas cursed before another shot rang out. The lantern shattered, the light having been shot out.

As darkness surrounded everyone again, Din blinked heavily, trying to get his eyes to adjust.

He was taking too long, his sight still blinded by the image of the bright lantern burned into his sight with every blink.

A heavy weight hit him in the side as one of the outlaws took him to the ground. His hat went flying and he had the breath knocked out of him from landing heavily on the ground.

The man was large and his breath stank of cheap gin. Grappling with each other, Din tried to shoot the man, but the shot went wild. There was some sort of commotion going on nearer the house, but Din was only partly aware of that, instead intent on trying to get unpinned.

Trying to shoot the man again, Din pulled the hammer back on his revolver and struggled to point it towards the outlaw’s head. But the man slammed his hand back against the ground, causing another shot to go wild before sending a fist crashing into Din’s jaw once, twice, three times. The blows were hard enough Din was worried that he might lose a tooth if it kept up.

“Fuckin’ lawman, fuckin’ gonna kill you,” the man on top of him growled, pulling his fist back to hit him again.

Changing tack, Din tucked his chin in and surged forward, sending the crown of his head crashing into his current opponent’s nose.

There was a crack of bone and cartilage, and a wounded cry from the man. Blood instantly spurted from the now broken nose.

The moment the grip on his wrist let up Din took the opportunity to roll them both over, setting the barrel of his gun against the man’s forehead and pulling the trigger.

But there was no moment to rest as someone took a pot shot at him, the horses in the corral sounding distressed at the gunfight. The shot was a shit one though. It had, at best, been twenty feet to his left.

Stumbling to his feet, Din spat out a bit of blood from a cut on the inside of his cheek. His head pounded as he felt the slide of blood down his throat. He didn’t think his nose was broken, it didn’t hurt that much, but it sure was bleeding. Even so, he searched for the shooter. The sound of the quickly retreating beat of a horse’s hooves helped him locate the gang member trying to escape the chaos.

Standing straight, Din felt himself sway slightly even as he tried to mold the two separate images of the rider into one solid target. It was taking too long so he shot at the one on the left, to no effect. He tried again with the same result. Damn it all to hell. He was shooting at the double in his hazy eyesight, not the real one.

Stumbling forward, Din tried to get a bit closer, tripping over a dried branch as his eyesight solidified. The two images of the rider started to merge back into one.

Din took another shot at the rider as they started to gallop away, but the shot went wide when he heard a soft cry from inside the house. He sighted down the gun again to try and get the rider before his brain reminded him that there was only one bullet left and trouble still inside the house.

The soft distressed sound happened again, it sounded like a wounded and scared animal. He saw the gun waver even as he had a clear shot. The sound of a man yelling and the quiet sound stopping made the choice for him.

“Fuck!” Din spat quietly, bringing the gun down to his side in agitation.

Turning on his heel, he stalked towards the house, completely unaware of the intimidating image he cut. His duster snapped and flared out behind him like a cape, a dark shadow that followed him even as he stepped onto the rickety remains of a porch.

Din heard a livid voice from inside the house, “Come back here, you little shit!”  
He ripped the front door open.

Two people were inside and the situation became quickly apparent to the marshal. Firstly, there was a large outlaw holding a gun. Secondly, there was a child around the age of three or four. 

That wasn’t what he had expected, and the momentary surprise gave the outlaw a moment to press his gun against the kid’s head with a shaky hand.

“Stay back!” he ordered. The gun was pressed harder against the kid’s head, making the child whimper. “Who are you? A fucking lawman?”

“Hey now,” Din said in a calm tone like he was trying to soothe a terrified horse, but he didn’t put his gun down. “Let’s not be hasty, friend. No need to hurt the child, right?”

The man, Din was rather sure it was either James or Matthew Henson — it was hard to tell between the two brothers — didn’t look very assured.

“The hell you know about anything?” The man spat through a blond beard that was stained with tobacco juice near the corners of his mouth, his eyes were wide and searching the room for an escape.

But there was no other way out, the windows had been boarded up years ago and the only way out was through the front door. The door that Din was currently standing in the middle of.

“You don’t want to hurt a kid,” Din stated rather than asked. “I can bring you in warm… Or I can bring you in cold. But if you try’n hurt that kid…”

Din let the unspoken promise of death hang in the air, the summer night thick with heat and dust in the small room. The dull yellow light from the single lantern lengthened the shadows until Din felt like, if he stepped back out into the darkness of the night behind him, he might disappear into a different moment altogether.

The silence was broken by the kid whimpering slightly. Din’s eyes flicked down to look at the round face, curly mousey brown hair, and wide green eyes full of fear.

The outlaw saw the marshal’s attention waver away from him and moved, trying to shoot the lawman.

Two shots rang out in the dilapidated house. Din flinched as splinters of wood exploded from the door jam near his face. That shot had been close, but not close enough. 

There was a wet gurgle of surprise as the outlaw let go of the child and his gun to grasp at his throat. Blood quickly coated his hands and down his chest from the wound before he stumbled a few steps and collapsed, giving a last gurgle before his soul departed this mortal plane. 

The marshal’s attention was no longer on the dead Stone gang member, instead focusing on the kid. The little one had darted for the bed, squirming underneath like greased lightning.

Din pressed his lips together, he didn’t know much of children, but he knew he needed to have the kid feeling safe — or at least marginally safer — to get him to come out from under there. Sure he could just move the bed, but that seemed… a bit heavy-handed after what the kid had been through. The marshal surely didn’t believe that he belonged to anyone in the gang, they had been dirty and grimy but that didn’t hide that the clothing was quality made. 

Perhaps they had kidnapped him? Hoping to collect a reward?

Holstering his now empty revolver, Din used his the kerchief around his neck to wipe up some of the blood from his nose as glanced around the room. He found and scooped up the ratty blanket from the bed. He could use it to cover up the body for a start, the kid didn’t need to be seeing this sort of thing if he could help it. As he took the blanket, Din saw something fall to the cot.

Covering the body first, he looked to see what the object was.

The marshal found himself confronted with the most frivolous and adorable child’s toy he had ever encountered. It was a cream-colored stuffed elephant made of felt. It had a little tail, large floppy ears, and a curling trunk, it also had a blue and yellow sort of blanket sewn securely on its back, little black glass eyes, and two tiny tusks. It was a fancy looking little thing, even dirty as it was currently. But otherwise, it seemed the little elephant had been taken care of, it had to belong to the kid.

Hunkering down to look under the bed, Din eased to lay on the floor and make himself as small as he could when he saw the kid flinch again.

“Hey… kid,” he started awkwardly. “You’re safe, I’m a marshal. A lawman, alright? I think I found your friend?”

Din showed the toy and was pleased to get an immediate positive reaction.

“Charlie!” The kid cried. His little hands made frantic grabbing motions for the stuffed toy before starting to crawl out.

“Come on, trooper,” Din encouraged, and let the kid take the toy from him.

The little one hesitated for just a moment. Seeing as Din made no move to grab at him, the kid snatched the toy away and smashed his face into the soft felt of the toy. He gave a little sigh of relief that sounded like it should have come from a much older and world-weary adult rather than a child. The sound made the marshal frown slightly, he didn’t like it. Kids shouldn’t have to live through shit like this.

He was broken from his reverie when the little one dashed in closer and clung to his middle like he was a lifeline. Din stiffened, unused to handing young ones and this one was now weeping against him. 

The child sucked in noisy and wet breathes, tears running down his little distressed face. The best thing Din could think of was to rub the kid’s back and whisper soothing words like he used when Razor got spooked on occasion.

He had been expecting a good amount of chaos tonight, but a kid? He didn’t know the first thing about ‘em. Sure, he knew some in passing, some of his friends had youngsters of their own. But Din was used to acting as the visiting uncle — of no blood relation. Someone who could tell perhaps one or two entertaining stories for the smaller ones and teach the older ones how to shoot. Caring for a child though? That just made him feel out to sea.

How long he held the kid, Din was never quite sure. Eventually, the sobs subsided and the kid went quiet. Din thought the kid had fallen asleep until he was asked a question.

“Where’s momma? Papa?” Green eyes rimmed red looked up at Din expectantly. A chubby hand picked at one of the elephant’s soft ears.  
  
The silver hair comb weighed like lead in his coat pocket. Realization hit him like a charging bull. He was rather sure he knew what had happened in the back of the wagon outside and it surely wasn’t a thought he was about to share with the kid. Not when Din couldn’t confirm anything yet.

“I’m not sure,” Din said, telling himself he wasn’t lying to the kid… not exactly. “But I’m gonna take you into town and see if we can find your family. That sound good with you, little one?”

A plump bottom lip trembled and Din feared there would be another round of tears, but they didn’t come.

Instead, the kid burrowed himself against Din’s chest, a small hand clutching at the kerchief at Din’s neck.

“Yeah,” came the muffled reply, thick with sleep.

“G-good,” Din stuttered slightly, his chest filling with a rush of affection that he wrote off as the last dregs of adrenaline. It mixed harshly with the knowledge that the kid’s parents were, in all likelihood, not still alive.

As the kid fell into an exhausted sleep against his chest, Din Djarin knew at that moment that if the kid had family left, he would do anything to get this kid back home. The kid deserved that from Din.

The marshal ran a dusty gloved hand over the child’s head, frowning at how dirty the curls were.

“Don’t worry bud. I’ll keep you safe. Get you home,” he promised even though the sleeping child didn’t hear it.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Fiddleheaded: inane; lacking good sense; “possessing a head as hollow as a fiddle.” Arose c. 1854
> 
> -“It was so dry the bushes followed the dogs around.” - a rather crass way of saying that the area is dry and in need of rain
> 
> -Cowboy biscuits contained only flour, water and salt. They became hard, brittle and very dry after baking for a long time at a low temperature. Although they were sometimes eaten on their own, most used the biscuits to sop up coffee, ate them as mush, or crumbled into stews.
> 
> -The Hair Pin/Bun Fork I had in mind looked like [this one](https://www.etsy.com/listing/669393185/ca-1870-90-victorian-era-sterling?show_sold_out_detail=1&ref=nla_listing_details). That example dates from 1860-1890 and there are a whole ton of different designs if you want to look more up more as well.
> 
> -The stuffed elephant “Charlie” is based off a toy that was created and popularized by Margarete Steiff. Her first versions were created as pincushions but quickly became popular with children of the era as toys. The official founding date of Steiff Manufacture was in Germany 1880 and the felt toy elephants were eventually joined by toy monkeys, donkeys, horses, camels, pigs, mice, dogs, cats, hares and giraffes. Her nephew would go on to invent the teddy bear in 1902, which is a bit too late for Dusty Trails but I had to include the elephant. <3


	3. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Din goes into town to collect the bounty prices on the gang members he had taken care of, he finds himself dealing with things he doesn't have the full picture of yet.

The next few hours for Din were filled with a lot of work he had been expecting if things had gone well. He just hadn’t also been expecting the kid. So he had worked at his more grizzly business while the kid was sleeping.

The wagon was more than deep enough to transport the bodies back to town. He had checked to see if there were any other objects like the hair comb there but he came up empty with that search. If there had been anything else it must have been removed.

Razor had come at his high pitched whistle, the horse had already been packed up with his kit before he had come down to the house earlier. He would have preferred to ride the gelding back when they left, but it would be easier for him to handle the wagon in the actual driver’s seat. Probably would have to tuck the kid in by his side, Din hoped they wouldn’t be too squirmy since it was a good trek to the closest town. But if they started out early enough after breakfast they should make good time on the dry roads. Might even make it by mid-afternoon, just would have been quicker on horseback on his own versus with the wagon.

The sky was turning dusty shades of gold and pink as he finished retying the tarp over the back of the wagon. He had already double-checked the poster he had in his saddlebags. He had confirmed that he had taken care of ten members of the gang, the only exception being Colm Reed — a wiry fella in his early thirties, and sly as a fox. Made sense it would be him to have slipped away.

The marshal truly doubted that man would do anything rash, like try to exact revenge for his fallen comrades. But either way, Din had already picked out a closely matched pair of horses from the corral to pull the wagon; a brown gelding with white socks and a black and white piebald he suspected might have a bit of draft horse blood.

The other horses he had removed any remaining tack and shooed out of the corral. He wasn’t about to herd all of them back to town on his own so it was best to just let them fend for themselves with their wild brethren. They would do fine enough out on the prairie in his experience, and if someone in town really wanted to round them up? Well, they were more than welcome to do so.

Leaving the two commandeered horses to eat a bit of breakfast with Razor, Din made his way back into the house.

He was relieved to find the kid still asleep. How long did children need to sleep anyways though? Should he let him wake up on their own? Wake him up?

Unsure about such things, Din settled on a task he could more than handle: Breakfast.

Searching through what the gang had left in the merger larder for something to cook up into a hardy breakfast for him and the kid. He was trying to be quiet, but he was interrupted from looking over some canned beans when he heard the kid shuffling with the blankets.

Looking over, he saw a pair of green eyes blinking sleepily at him. One side of the kid’s hair was plastered flat while the other was wildly curly and mussed from sleep. The sight caused a flicker of a grin to cross the marshal’s face, the youngster was cute as a button.

That reminded him, he still didn’t even know the kid’s name.

Coming over, Din crouched by the bed. His knees and back ached slightly, but that wasn’t new so he pushed past it.

“Sleep well?”

A small hand worried over the head of the stuffed toy elephant — Charlie, Din’s brain automatically corrected — before the kid nodded hesitantly.

“That’s good,” Din reassured. “Now, I didn’t introduce myself proper last night, did I? I’m US Marshal Djarin…” his eyes flicked down to the toy, “I know Charlie’s name already… what’s your name?”

“I’m Lewis Durant, Mama and Papa call me Lewie, so you can, too. I’m four,” the boy recited, his little chest puffing up proud at being a whole four years old and holding his little hand to shake Din’s larger calloused one.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lewie,” Din said, shaking the tiny soft hand with the serious air children generally figured adults always used with other adults.

“I’m gonna make breakfast for us, that sound good to you?”

Lewis instantly perked up, “What we eating?”

“Some pork and fried potatoes, sound good?”

“Yeah!”

The twitch at Din’s lips returned again, but this time it formed an amused smile. “Great.”

After a quick trip to the outhouse for Lewie, Din had gotten to work. The stove had been easy enough to light, and Din was reasonably sure that he wasn’t going to burn the dilapidated house down, since it appeared that the gang had been cooking inside as well.

Cutting two generously thick slices of salted pork, he placed them into the hot cast-iron pan on the stove. The heat instantly caused the meat to start to sizzle as he kept a wary eye on Lewis. He was half making sure the kid stayed put and half out of his own curiosity.

He sat on the chair Din had provided by the little kitchen table, little booted feet swinging as he watched Din with eyes rounded in anticipation for food. He looked hungry, but was patient as Din finished with the pork and then fried up the potatoes he had chopped up in the grease that was leftover in the pan. He didn’t have salt or pepper for the spuds, but the pork drippings would be tasty enough that he hoped the kid would eat them even if it wasn’t fancy.

The coffee was for just him and finished brewing, dark and robust just how he liked it, as Din filled two plates up with the pork and crispy potatoes. He filled a tin cup for the blistering hot brew of Arbuckles and drank it black. There was only one other cup of coffee he preferred better than he made and the lady who ran the general store he could always rely on for a good cup of it.  
Lewie picked up a fork and knife, both utensils looking large and unwieldy in the small chubby hands. He looked at the large slab of pork as if it was a puzzle before starting in on the smaller pieces of potato instead.

“Need some help cutting the pork?” Din asked, recalling a bit more now from some of the time spent with his friends and how they handled their younger children.

He quickly nodded before piping in with a, “Yes, please, Mister Marshal.”

So Din took the plate back and made quick work of cutting the pork and some of the larger slices of potato up for the kid. Bemused at being called “Mister Marshal” but letting Lewie know he could just call him Din.

~*~

Din was finished hitching up the two horses to the wagon after breakfast when he had to pause and watch in bemusement at the sight before him.

The lawman always knew Razor was a good horse, his favorite mount he’d ever had if he was being honest. The silver and black dun, or grullo, was a mixed breed to be sure. Maybe had something finer in the mix like Arabian, or something less exotic like the Morgan horse or Quarter horse. But whatever else Razor might be, he was certainly of principally mustang descent.

He was a bit smaller than some of the massive horses from the east, but Razor had heart, spirit, and always had been better with kids then Din ever was. 

Since Din had shown little Lewie how to hold out a flat palm out with a handful of grain for Razor to snuffle up, the two of them were getting along like they had been old friends for years. Currently, the horse was very patiently letting the child pat his velvety black nose with barely even a flick of an ear at the examination. The chubby hands traced over the little spots of silver-grey that Din knew peppered across the large muzzle.

Lewie giggled as Razor snorted slightly, the warm rush of breath ruffling the kid’s curls. 

Yep, that was cute, Din thought as he finished tightening the last bit of tack, taking a bit of extra time to make sure the heart rings on the bridle were straightened out. He gave the piebald horse a pat on his withers before going to rest the driving reins on the lip of the wagon where he could easily grab them up once he was up in the driver’s seat.

“Alright you two, time to head out,” Din said as his long legs ate up the distance between the wagon and his two charges having fun.

“Can I drive, Mister Marshal?” Lewie pipped up, giving Razor one last pat before Din scooped him up.

“If you don’t squirm, I’ll let you help, sure,” Din agreed easily, not seeing any issue with letting the kid hold onto the ends of the reins while he drove.

The kid only weighed thirty-five pounds, or thereabout, so it was easy enough for Din to swing him up into the high back driver’s seat.

Din whistled his command for Razor to follow. His horse was trained well enough he didn’t feel the need to tie him to the back of the wagon. All in order, the Marshal clicked his tongue and snapped the reins to have the two horses hitched to the wagon to walk on. The farmhouse became abandoned again as they started down the old road.

Lewis had lasted a good ten minutes on the road before Din saw him squirming.

“What’s wrong, kid?”

“The seat’s hard,” Lewie pouted, as he squirmed more one of the wagon wheels hit a nice sized pothole in the road.

The kid squeaked as he slid a few inches away before one of Din’s hands shot out to keep him in place.

Once they were on a steadier stretch of road, Din held the reins in one gloved hand and pulled the kid onto his lap. Once he had Lewie sat steady there, Din showed him where he could hold the loose ends of the reins while the marshal kept control of the team with a steady hand.

That set up worked a charm, the kid entertained by “helping” drive and also having a comfier seat. There were a couple stops to water some bushes, and also several more small meals than Din was used to partaking in. But it made sense that the kid might need to eat smaller amounts but more often seeing he had a smaller stomach and all.

But they had eventually made it to the nearby town of Pine Bluff. Din drove the wagon right up Main Street, with Razor trailing close behind, as he came to the sheriff’s office. He’d been here before, back when they had a different sheriff last year, that one had moved out to California and been replaced.

Getting down from the wagon, Din tied the team and Razor to the post before getting Lewie down.

“Alright, kid, let’s see what the sheriff has for us, alright? Figure out what’s up with you and then we can look into getting some supper,” Din explained. Glancing further down the street he saw what looked to be a barbershop and bath and added, “Maybe a bath too.”

Lewie nodded his head in agreement before capturing two of Din’s large fingers in his chubby little fist. Din blinked in surprise at the new sensation, but didn’t pull away and just led the child into the building with him.

The sheriff looked to be in the middle of something as someone that Din couldn’t see slammed the door going out the back of the office in some apparent haste, so Din knocked his knuckles on the door jam to get the man’s attention. The sound caused the old brown and white spotted dog, laying against the cool wooden floor, to jerk awake with a happy couple of thumps of his tail.

The man, who Din had a good six inches on, was rather stressed-looking. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead, which he went to dab away with a handkerchief. He had gray eyes and had a brown beard and a mustache curling over his upper lip in such a way that Din questioned how the man was able to eat properly.

“Afternoon, I’m Sheriff McCarty. What can I do for you… and your son today?”

“Sheriff McCarty, I’m US Marshal Djarin. He’s not mine, and you’ll find ten of the Stone River Gang in the wagon out front,” Din stated without any preamble, flashing the marshal pin he had pinned to his vest. He then pulled the folded up wanted papers from the inside pocket sewn in his duster, handing them over.

“Pardon?”

“I’m here to collect the bounties on the ten men who’re accounted for outside.”  
Feeling a tug on his pant leg, Din turned his attention to the boy hiding slightly behind him.

“Yes, Lewie?”

“Can I play with the doggie, Mister Marshal?” Lewie asked, very clearly trying to not beg but not doing the best job of it.

“You’ll have to ask Sheriff McCarty. Ask him if it’s alright,” Din prompted.

Big green eyes turned from Din to the sheriff who just waved the kid off with his blessing.

“Sure, you can play with that ol’ hound, hardly has any teeth left and it gentle as a kitten,” the sheriff said, and shortly both dog and boy tumbled out of the sheriff’s office to do what boys and dogs did.

“So what’s with the kid?” The sheriff asked.

“Was there when I took the gang,” Din explained. “Not sure what happened, but I think they might have kidnapped him with his parents. There was no sign of the parents, at least none that suggested they were still alive. No sign of the money they stole either, I'm figuring they hid that and potentially the bodies of the kid’s parents out there somewhere.”

“Poor kid,” the sheriff mused, a frown on his face as they both watched Lewie play outside for a moment. “You have a name for him?”

“Lewis Durant,” Din supplied.

McCarty hummed in thought, “Ain’t heard of no missing folks, much less any Durant family. What is that? French? Italian?”

Din shrugged, he didn’t have a clue.

“Well… I suppose we can send to Silver City, see if they’ve heard anything. Nothing to be done for it at this moment though except see how the city police want to handle it. Must be a right terror to have to transport the kid on your own though.”

At the mention Lewie, Din glanced outside, watching as he was still playing with the sheriff’s old hound dog. 

Having tucked his gloves in his belt earlier, Din rubbed at the patchy stubble that was starting to come in long after some several weeks of tracking. He could hear the sheriff shuffling through some papers behind him. Something wasn’t sitting right with him, the way the sheriff was angling after the kid… no it just didn’t sit right.

“He’s not much trouble,” Din finally answered, turning away from the sight outside the window, “I already was figuring on taking the kid in. It ain’t no skin off my teeth to handle that.”

Din almost missed the tightening of the sheriff’s hand around the pen he was using, for the man then snorted, the action causing his rather bushy mustache to bristle a bit.

“Just as well, I doubt the missus would've liked having another mouth to feed if you left him here,” he joked, but something in his tone didn’t ring true.

Damn it all, Din didn’t care for this bullshit. 

“So, the bounty reward?” Din prompted.

The sheriff had the grace to look a bit embarrassed, “See now, it is a bit complicated. This bounty was put up between us here in our little town of Pine Bluff and the good folks of Silver City. Even if you had brought in all eleven members I couldn’t pay you the full amount,” he explained. “Now, I sure can write you up a letter to take to the sheriff of Silver City confirming the rest of the bounties so you can collect the nine-hundred, but I can only pony up the first one-hundred myself.”

Din felt his jaw creak with the pressure he was grinding his teeth at this development. He had taken up these bounties to get paid, after all. He took a moment to collect himself, it would do him little good to get on the bad side with even a small-town sheriff. They had their own measure of political and social pull, that was a hornet’s nest Din didn’t want to step in.

“If you could write that letter, I would be obliged,” Din said, keeping his own opinions to himself. 

Sheriff McCarty supplied as he rifled through his messy dress apparently looking for a pen. “If ya’ want to wait a spell, I can send one of my deputies down to Silver City to handle the rest of the bounty money.”

Din blinked, offended, he certainly was not someone to have another man play messenger for him. He was about to make a derisive comment about the offer when Sheriff McCarty kept on talking.

“There’s a boarding house just a bit down Main Street if you want to spend the night. Clean enough and food that will stick to your ribs. I doubt that you’ll want to head back out this evening with the kid in tow,” the sheriff continued. “Can even send a telegraph to the city if you want, make sure they know you’re coming.”

Din hummed noncommittally, though he did note the mention of the boarding house to himself. It would be rather nice to have the kid sleep in a bed and get a home-style cooked meal for the night if it was available.

The sheriff handed over the letter in an envelope, along with the money inside.

“Thank you,” Din said, with a slight tip of his head, and with that he was out the door and collecting Lewis from his playtime with the sheriff’s hound. The kid had been literally rolling in the dust, much more energetic than the old dog was. Yeah, a bath was truly in order.

~*~

Sheriff McCarty watched as the marshal got his horse and walked down Main Street with Lewis Durant, until they entered the boarding house that Mrs. Elliott ran. 

So they would be staying the night, that was good. 

He didn’t turn around when he heard the back door open again, the person stepping in was quiet but he already knew it was Colm Reed.

The sheriff turned on his heel and glared at the last remaining man from the Stone River Gang who was currently lurking in the shadows by the cells.

“What the fuck happened out there?” McCarty asked, glaring at the reed of a man who had somehow been the only gang member to still be living. He had barely gotten to hear how almost the whole gang was now dead when the damned marshal had driven right up to his front door and Reed had to duck out back before being seen. “Last I heard from the boss no one in the family was supposed to be badly hurt. Not without direct orders.”

Colm hissed and spat in the beat-up spittoon that was near the desk before pointing to two long bloody and inflamed marks on his face that ran down his jaw to disappear into his dirty shirt, “I didn’t do shit and I still got fucking stabbed in the face by that bitch.”

Didn’t do shit sounds about right, McCarty thought before snorting, pulling out a bottle of cheap whiskey from his desk drawer and taking a swig. He grimaced at the burn as he recapped the bottle, not bothering to offer Reed any.

“Looks like they’ll be in town for at least tonight, I know a reasonable man when I see one,” McCarthy expounded. “That marshal has been out after you all for weeks, one more night dealing with a kid and I’m sure he’ll listen to reason and be happy enough to have me ‘deal’ with finding his next of kin. Hell, he might even come to that conclusion on his own.”

He turned back to glare at Reed, “Then we can clean up the mess your idiot friends got started when they didn’t follow the plan.”

“We did follow it,” the man protested weakly. After all, the bodies in the wagon outside didn’t really speak highly at all of the validity of that statement. “We just weren’t expecting no lawmen since… well you know how we didn’t have to worry about you none so some of us boys might have been a bit celebratory after hiding the haul.”

“Got absolutely roostered more like,” McCarty muttered, he knew how this gang got after a heist. 

Reed growled in annoyance but didn’t say anything, both men knew who had the real power in the room and it certainly wasn’t the outlaw on the run and in deep shit with their shared benefactor.

“Get out of here for the night and stay the fuck out of sight, we don’t need that kid seeing you and squealing, or that Marshal recognizing you,” McCarty called out as Colm Reed slipped out again into the darkening evening. 

~*~

The town’s barbershop was easy enough to find seeing as it had the familiar white pole with the helix of red and blue stripes. As Din and Lewie came to the front door, he found a painted sign that read:

 **Haircut Cleaned or Dressed - Smooth & Easy Shaves  
Hot and Cold Baths - Teeth Pulled**  
Hours: 9 AM - 11 PM  
Closes at Noon every Sunday  
Hair Cut 25¢  
Shave 10¢  
**Baths**  
First Water 50¢  
Used Water 25¢  
Soap & Towel 20¢ 

Din could only presume that the price for getting a tooth pulled was probably given on inquiry and was thankfully not in need to ask.

The barber ended up being rather short of talk, which suited Din just fine. Taking Din’s money, a whole $1.35 to cover hot baths, soap, and towels for both him and the kid as well as a bit of a haircut and shave for just Din. Since the shop didn’t close until 11pm they had plenty of time to get cleaned and sorted through Din would prefer to have the kid sleeping in the small room he was renting out for the night.

After being out for so long Din knew he was rather ripe. Not anywhere near the level he would get on the long cattle drives, but he was hardly flowery fresh. Might as well fix that since they were staying the night and they had a good hour or so before dinner was being served at the boarding house.

He had come to the agreement with the barber that it would be best for baths first and then a cut and shave, and he and his charge were ushered to the back room. A tin bathtub, large enough for the majority of the male clientele that came off the range needing to be washed of their sins, was set in a wood-encasement. Two large towels were set out on a small stool beside that and some plain cheap soap onto of that.

The barber had thankfully had some extra marbles for Lewie to play with while Din got himself settled for his bath. The ceramic spheres clunked together as the kid seemed to be making up his own rules to play with rather than actually playing marbles correctly from what Din could tell.

After pulling out a change of clothing for himself from the saddlebag he had brought in, Din undid his gunbelt and shucked off the layers of clothing until he was naked as the day he’d been born.

Yep, he certainly was in need of a bath, he could see where the dust had started making a rather noticeable layer on his skin wherever it had been even slightly exposed.

Climbing into the tub he lowered his saddlesore body into the steaming bathwater. Din hissed in a mix of pain and pleasure at the heat of it, as he leaned back against the tub. The tops of his knees remained above the top of the water, his legs a bit too long for the tub to fully fit him but it would be good enough. He certainly had taken baths in much smaller tubs to be sure, this one was a right luxury in comparison to those.

Sighing heavily as he listened to another customer in the front room talking enough for both themselves and the barber. Probably a cowboy recently off the range if Din knew anything. Seeing as the partition between the front of the place and the back bath was just a heavy canvas sheet, Din could hear every single word.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and slipped under the surface. The water caressed and slid over every inch of his neck and face, filling in his ears. The water made the talking on the other side of the room sound distorted, dull, and heavy. He stayed under another moment, feeling how his hair floated and waved in the whirls and eddies his movements had created in the water around him.

Pushing back up, Din snorted the water from his nose, shaking the dripping hair away from his face.

He heard a muffled giggle and turned to look at Lewie with a raised eyebrow. The kid was covering his mouth to try and suppress the laugh but was failing rather spectacularly.

“Somethin' funny?” He asked the kid, his own lips twitching. He was sure he looked plausibly like a drowned dog, a huge curl of hair was stuck to his forehead now and his mustache did feel out of sorts. 

The kid snorted and nodded, “You are, you’re hair’s all silly.”

“Well, just you wait, little mister,” Din warned. “Once I’m done here it's your turn.”

Din didn’t spend too much more time scrubbing up, his golden-brown skin turning rosy from the rough scrubbing he did with the washcloth and soap. It felt good to slough off the dirt and grim, to dig his fingers against his scalp and get his wavy curls squeaky clean, as well. Once that was completed, he slicked the mass of hair back with both hands, squeezing a good amount of the water out to stream down his neck and back.

If he didn’t have the kid to take care of still, he might’ve stayed in a bit longer, let his muscles unwind a bit more in the hot water. But there was dinner to make sure they didn’t miss, the boarding house lady had sounded rather serious about when supper time was to happen and that latecomers would be out of luck.

Pushing himself up, Din grimaced at the color of the water left in the tub before he pulled the plug to let the water drain. As the water swirled around the drain he could hear the faint sound of the water running under the building, it probably drained out at the back of the building.

Toweling off his skin and hair quickly, Din then securely tucked the cloth around his waist as he got the tub filling up again from the water boiler. This would be why this place cost a bit more, it wasn’t often he saw this sort of kit outside of the larger cities.

Switching to the cold water source, Din mixed the water until it felt warm and not scalding before having Lewie approve. The kid still thought it was too hot so he watched as Din added more cold water until it was to the young mister’s approval.

“Alright chickabiddy, let’s get you washed up.”

Staying in the towel ended up being the correct decision. The floor getting a good amount of water all over it as Din scrubbed the kid’s hair, doing his best to keep any soap from getting into sensitive eyes. The kid was filthy, worse than Din had been it seemed, turning a whole two shades lighter as the dirt from scrubbed off. It was a bit of an ordeal for about halfway through Lewie decided that he was hungry and wanted to be done, so Din had bribed him with a bit of dried fruit to gnaw on while Din finished cleaning behind his ears and the like.

Finishing the snack and finally getting toweled off, the kid had been a bit happier. Content for long enough that they both could get dressed and the barber had been able to give Din a quick shave and a hair trim. In short order, Din’s cheeks were first coated with a thick lather and then scrapped smooth with the precision only a barber with his cutthroat razor could do. The man also neatened up Din’s mustache and left a bit of sideburn. For the rest of his unruly mane, the barber took some of the length on the sides and left the wavy hair up top longer, but Din forwent the pomade since he figured it would just get mussed by his hat.

Scooping the kid up, who was officially dozing in an empty barber’s chair, hair already starting to dry fluffy and soft. Din thanked the barber and went out.

Lewie’s arms instinctively came around Din’s neck as he snuggled in closer. His face, still with its baby chubbiness, was soft and warm against Din’s freshly shaven jaw.

Mustache twitching with the ghost of a smile, Din shifted the kid’s weight slightly so he’d be more comfortable on the walk back to the boarding house, he just hoped the kid would be awake enough to eat dinner. But for now, he would carry him, the kid had some really long stressful days. The least Din could do was carry him.

~*~

Din had tacked up Razor in the early morning hours, a sleepy kid in tow. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been able to sleep all that well, but something about this sheriff… rubbed him the wrong way. Couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but he wanted to be out of the town well before the sun rose this morning.

Lewie, despite being wedged between the Din and the horn of the saddle had somehow managed to nod off in the first few minutes after leaving the town. The sway of Razor’s gentle gait perhaps being perfect to soothe the child back to sleep at the early hour. 

It wasn’t far from town when Din came to the fork in the road he knew had been coming up. If he continued straight he would be traveling some fifty miles to Silver City and going exactly where the sheriff would be inclined to think he was headed.

Pulling slightly on the reins, Razor came to a stop. His ears flicking back to listen expectantly for his rider’s next instruction.

The morning sun was bright and orange on the horizon now. The day-star looked like the shiny yolk of a newly cracked egg, shimmering with its slow ascent higher into the sky.

Turning around slightly in his saddle, Din saw that they weren’t being followed. It was at that moment that he became aware that he had been expecting that they would have been. That same instinct had him pulling lightly on Razor’s reins as they set off again, this time at a loping canter toward the town that — if he was to be honest — had been on his mind the whole time he had been out on the prairie. 

Namely, the town of Shady Rock, where his favorite general store was. After all, it was only about ten miles away, which should take only about three to four hours at a good canter. They should be there before noon.

~*~

It was well after two in the afternoon when you did a double-take at the sight in front of your store.

Not that seeing the marshal was odd — Marshal Djarin, you corrected with a private smile — but the manner of his arrival? That indeed was a bit odd.

Rather than riding up on Razor, he had been walking the horse down Main Street and also had a kid perched on the saddle. Since when had he ever had a kid?

You continued to watch, currently not having any other customers to distract you, as you watched the marshal swing the child down from the saddle before turning to the storefront.

Too slow to move away, trying to figure out what was going on, he suddenly caught your eye through the glass, catching you in the act. This was about the same time you noticed, that while he was perchance a bit dusty from the road, he had clearly been to a barber recently. Absent was the normal scruff from his square jaw, and the slight grin showed off the dimple just to the side of his now sharp mustache.

The man must have known he was a sight to see as he tipped his hat to you through the window before sending you a cheeky wink.

Your eyes widened at the brazenness of is, and you barely could give him a curt nod back before busying yourself with pretending to straighten the stock behind the counter. It was already perfectly in place, but that didn't really matter.

You were able to sort yourself enough as the marshal and his… Son? Charge? …came in. If he was going to be that way? You certainly could give it back if you wanted to.

“Come to pay your tab, Marshal Djarin?” you asked, your tone almost boarding on archness. You also couldn’t help but savor the taste of his name in his mouth. The feeling filled your limbs with something warm and sweet and just a bit spiced. It was like… taking the first sip of hot mulled cider of the winter. The sweetness of the cider, the fragrant cloves, anise, and cinnamon, a bit of brightness from a lemon that had come on the train, and maybe a splash of brandy or good whiskey so it sat warm and comforting in your stomach.

“Yes’m” he said, pulling out a plain leather wallet from inside his coat. “Fourteen cents, correct?”

“That’ll be correct,” you paused just a moment as he pulled out a single dollar bill. It was an older issued one with the old Secretary of the Treasury on it, unlike the newer bills. “I’m surprised.”

The marshal tilted his head in question, his dark brown eyes on you even as he kept a hand on top of the kid’s tousled hair. You assumed he was doing that to keep the kid from wandering off and touching things as kids were want to do.

“I didn’t expect to see you back when you left with only twelve bullets,” you explained candidly as you quickly counted out the correct change for him.

He grunted in understanding, “Just lucky I suppose, ma’am” he said without a single iota of false humility. 

“Well… I’m glad,” you said before backtracking slightly. “Would’ve been out a whole fourteen cents.”

The smirk was back on his face though, he knew what you’d meant, “I’m glad too, not like me to leave a lady in the lurch”

You were left staring into his liquid brown eyes, blinking dumbly at the mild insinuation that you weren’t entirely sure if he had meant it that way when the moment was broken.

“Lewie, let’s not touch those,” the marshal said. Moving to swoop in just before the child managed to pull out one of the bottom cans in a pyramid of canned peaches from California you had displayed. He thankfully did so before the curious kid pulled the whole pile down on top of himself.

“This is Lewis,” Marshal Djarin explained, “He and his parents were taken by the gang… so I’ll be taking him to see if we can find his next of kin.”

It didn’t take you long at all to put together the unspoken fact that the kid’s parents were probably dead. You nodded at the marshal in understanding.

“I know it would be an inconvenience…” he started to ask before trailing off.

You waited for him to continue as you marked in your book that Marshal Din Djarin’s tab was currently paid in full.

“My horse threw a shoe outside of town,” he started to explain. “I already was planning on getting Lewis here some clean clothes from your stock, would it be possible for you to pick those out with him while I get Razor sorted with the blacksmith?”

You blinked, mouth opening automatically to say that you were running a business and didn’t have time to be nannying. But you made the mistake of looking into those brown eyes and any argument you might have had disappeared.

“I suppose I can do that,” I agree hesitantly, but the flash of a full smile that the marshal charmed you the rest of the way. Hell, that man had no right looking as fine as he did when he smiled like that. With a flash of teeth, and how it caused the skin around his eyes to crinkle making them look kinder, softer.

  
“I’m much obliged,” he murmured, his tone honey warm.

Coming around the counter you crouched down a bit to introduce yourself to little Lewis, from what you could tell he was a polite and rather quiet boy whose clothes looked completely filthy but that the child himself was clean enough. You assumed your marshal — no the marshal— had gotten the kid bathed at some point.

“So, Lewie, you ready to pick out some clothes and maybe some candy on Mister Marshal’s dime?” You asked with a grin. 

You threw a sidelong glance at the marshal as you spoke about spending his money. He snorted quietly but didn’t protest as he tipped his hat with a “Ma’am” to you and a “Behave for the kind lady, Lewie” before he went out to deal with Razor.

This could be a good bit of fun.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old Western Slang / Sayings / Historical tidbits
> 
> \- Cute as a button: Cute originally was a shortening of acute, for “sharp-witted and clever,” but in the early 1800s it also took on its current meaning.
> 
> \- Arbuckles’ Coffee - founded in the post American Civil War era, it was a popular roasted coffee brand in the west (Folgers was founded earlier but was more prevalent in the California gold fields being founded in San Fransisco). It was so prevalent that many cowboys didn’t realize there were other brands besides Arbuckles and would thus sometimes use it as a generic name for coffee, like how you might say “Kleenex” vs “tissues”. The company is still around to this day.
> 
> \- Roostered ~ drunk
> 
> \- Barber Shop / Bath House - most barbershops of the time would have secondary businesses (such as being a bathhouse) to make ends meet. Technically a man or cowboy would have their shave and hair cut done first and then the barber would ask if they wanted a bath as well, but I’m playing with that social norm of back then a bit to still translate better for a modern reader imo.
> 
> \- Marbles - Ceramic marbles were first mass-produced in the 1870s, glass ones wouldn’t be mass-produced until the early 1890s
> 
> \- Chickabiddy – A young chicken. Used also as a term of endearment for children starting in the late 18th c.
> 
> \- US one-dollar bills originally had the US Secretary of the Treasury, Salmon P. Chase on them, George Washington wouldn’t be used in the design until 1869 so I'm figuring there was a time both designs were in circulation.
> 
> \- While canned foods have been around since the early 1800s, canned fruit was being produced in California c. 1868


	4. Penny Candies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din's instincts are proven right much sooner than he might have figured, and the general store owner and Lewie have some fun choosing sweets.

Four horses shuffled restlessly as Toro Calican watched one of the others, a man he only knew as Wayne. His uncle Sheriff McCarty had insisted on having them all go along to track the marshal and the kid down.

Uncle Jimmy had been livid when it had been discovered that the marshal had skipped town in the early morning hours. The man departed so early and quietly, it hadn’t been noticed until the sun was already high, making the sky a bright clear blue. The kind of cloudless blue sky that made the eyes ache.

“Come on man,” Toro pipped up, tired of watching. He shifted in his saddle as a bead of sweat rolled down his neck.

Wayne glared at him and turned back to his work for a long moment before responding.

“This isn’t like tracking out in the prairie,” he said with a snort of derision. “There were several travelers already on the road the past day or so and I’m looking for just one damn horse, it takes time kid.”

Toro flushed in anger as the other men didn’t even try to hide their snorts of laughter at his expense. Toro knew Arthur and Silas both just saw him as a kid still. The trouble growing up in the same town your whole life was that no one seemed to have gotten a little fact that he had grown up.

The tracker dusted off his chaps as he stood up straight, the motions caused brown dust to fly up and around him but Toro couldn’t see that it helped much.

“One horse paused here,” he pointed to the tracks in the dust that apparently proved his point but Toro just saw hoof prints. “Didn’t stay for too long though, headed that way, towards Shady Rock.”

Arty swore, “Dodgasted, why’s this crazy marshal headed to Shady Rock?”

“I don’t know and I don’t rightly care. We’ve just been hired to get that kid back and that’s all we need to know about,” Silas said as he got his horse moving in the direction of the small farming town.

Wayne shrugged at Toro and Arty before he swung back into his own saddle with a creak of leather.

As the other two started out, Toro looked down at the tracks again for a moment before he spurred his horse on. Maybe he was seeing what old Wayne had seen in the dust and tracks after all.

~*~

  
The blacksmith of Shady Rock also doubled as a farrier and also ran a stable to keep his business solvent. The stables being further down the street, Din whistled to have Razor follow him as he made his way down Main Street.

The town wasn’t big yet, the stable yard was practically on the direct opposite side of the little town from the general store so Din figured it was just as well to stay put until Razor was all fixed up.

So he had inquired if the barrel-chested man could take a look.

“Do you have the thrown shoe?”

Din shook his head, “No, lost it sometime between the crossroads to Silver City and here. Noticed he was favoring that foot slightly, found the shoe was gone when I checked.”

“You didn’t ride him back in, did you?” the blacksmith interrogated.

“Tunk no,” Din snorted, slightly offended. “Had a kid ride him but I walked him in after pulling the nails that were still in the hoof wall.”

The big man nodded, obviously gruffly pleased as he finished checking Razor’s legs.

“Well, I think you lucked out. No bruised soles or frogs and his pasterns don’t feel hot or swollen,” the man confirmed as he gave Razor a firm pat on the side.

Din watched as the blacksmith ran a large hand down Razor’s leg, pressing on the tendon above the horse’s ankle to get the hoof up.

Razor snorted and shook his large head even as he behaved himself and shifted his weight to the other three legs and let the man get to work. Din had never known Razor to like his feet being worked on but he was even-tempered enough all the same to bear the indignities by looking absolutely forlorn.

Figuring his steed was in good hands, and not wanting to crowd the man at his work, Din settled himself nearby. There was a shady spot nearer the front of the stables, that should do nicely.

Leaning again the wall, Din contemplated heading back over to your general store. Though by his reckoning, from how quickly the blacksmith was working at cleaning up Razor’s feet and getting his forge really going, he would get back there just in time to have to turn around again and come back for his horse.

Maybe he could get a bit of shuteye instead, it wouldn’t be the oddest place he had gotten a wink of sleep and it wouldn’t be the last.

Din was parsing the pros and cons of his potential afternoon nap, taking in the town’s hustle and bustle when he noticed some riders coming into town. They weren’t traveling at a fast gallop but they kept a steady pace until they got to the edge of town and slowed to a more proper speed.

Keeping in the shadow he was currently in, Din tilted his face up just enough to watch as the newcomers came down the main drag. There were four of them, all on horseback. There was something… off at how they looked over the buildings and the people milling about going on their daily lives.

He didn’t recognize any of them, but he knew a posse when he saw one. The tall whip of a man — he was rather sure was a tracker — had sharp eyes set inside a sharp face. Then there was a kid or at least a young man barely out of schooling. Din’s eyes pretty much passed right over him in favor to figure out the other two.

One was clearly the muscle and the other? Well, the last one had already slipped off his horse and was bee-lining his way to the saloon. Either the man was in great need of a drink, even though it was still quite early in the afternoon for such libations, or he was after something else. Information.

Watching further, he saw the remaining three milling about, all of them seeming to keep an eye out for something, or perhaps someone. The tall one said something that had the youngest snarl back some curse which the two older men just laughed off.

The joshing around stopped though when their companion returned.

Din couldn’t overhear what was being said but he saw the jerk of a head down to the other end of town. The same direction as your store. A heavy weight settled in his stomach, perhaps he was being overly suspicious but he needed to get back to make sure the kid and you were okay.

When it didn’t appear that he had been noticed, Din slowly pushed off from the wall to go further back into the stables. He wanted to see if the farrier would be done with his horse sooner than later. The itch under his skin told the marshal that they needed to get going.

~*~

  
You grinned as you watched the marshal’s charge, little Lewie Durant. Currently, he was perched on the wooden step stool you kept behind the counter and very carefully looking over the glass jars of candies.

You had already gotten him dressed in new, clean, and un-torn clothes. The pants were a good fit and held up with the woven little suspenders which were adorable on him, the shirt was a tad bit big on the child, but such was the issue with remade clothing.

The big glass jars on the counter were filled with a rainbow of candies. Bright orange circus peanuts, the white & red striped hand-pulled peppermint sticks, other candy sticks being flavored with vanilla or sassafras, light yellow lemon drops, the slightly bitter-tasting horehound candies, bright red cherry drops, and a kaleidoscope of colors of jelly beans in green, red, white, black, and yellow.

It was all a tantalizing sight to any child and even many adults, after all, many people had a bit of a sweet tooth. So you knew how important the decision it was to make sure they picked correctly. It felt like just the other day that your father had first let you pick out some sweets for yourself, letting you use the little wooden scoop to put a few candies into a small paper bag. It had made you feel so grown up and you enjoyed giving the same experience to little ones now.

“May I have some of these ones, ma’am?” Green eyes looked up to you with hope, as the kiddo gently tapped on the glass of the jar full of the bright lemon drops.

“Of course!” you effused as you took the glass top off the jar, “would you like to scoop them out?”

Lewie’s eyes rounded even further as he vigorously nodded his little head, the curls bouncing as he did so.

One pudgy hand braced against the counter as Lewie took to proffered little metal scoop from you.

He bit down on his lip and furrowed his brow in concentration as he carefully scooped out a few candies and then transferred them to the little brown paper bag that you had waiting for him. The sugar-coated drops slid down the crisp paper and landed together with little clacks.

As you closed the jar again, Lewie gazed down into the bag at the little gem-like shapes now in his possession before you looked up to you again.

“Will Mister Marshal like these?” Lewis asked very seriously about the lemon drop candies.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, “but those are for you, Lewie.”

“But… I wanna give him some,” he practically pleaded.

Smiling, you ruffled his hair. He was a thoughtful child, his parents were doing a good job raising him — they had been that is — your stomach curdled at the thought, but you kept the smile on your face despite your mind’s little reminder. Lewie didn’t need any of your distress over his sad situation right now.

“That’s very thoughtful, do you want to pick some out for him too?”

“Yes!” The kid effused, the grin back on his face.

“More lemon drops maybe?”

Lewie considered this, his hands worrying over the paper bag he was holding in thought. “I don’t know, can you pick?” He pled.

“I… sure,” you agreed awkwardly. In the two years, you had known Marshal Djarin he had never purchased candy.

You and Lewie examined the jars again. Most of them you dismissed out of hand, too sweet you thought. Considering you knew that Din — Marshal Djarin that is — took his coffee without cream or sugar you didn’t think he would particularly care for the super sweet things.

Grabbing the scoop you wavered between the sassafras and horehound before getting some of the latter. The horehound drops were sold both as candies but also as digestive aids due to their hearty herbal nature. There was something about the flavor of them that just seemed… right. Sweetened but still a little bitter, they tasted of smoky warmth, similar to licorice or regular sassafras but not quite like either of them at all. It was a bit indescribable really, sort of like him.

You presented the candy for Lewie’s approval.

“What you think? Horehound drops sound about right?”

He made a face, “My papa likes those. They taste old.”

“Old?” You snorted, more bemused than anything. “Your papa very old?”

Lewie pondered the question for just a little while, “I think so, he has grey hair. But he always gives me candies he keeps in his desk,” the kid leaned in as if he was telling an important secret. “You can’t tell nana, or papa will get in trouble.”

“I promise I won’t tell,” you paused, thinking on how the marshal hadn’t seemed to know where Lewie was from, it might be helpful to see what else Lewie knew about his grandparents.

“Where do your grandparents live?” You ask as he sticks one lemon drop into his mouth.

Lewie’s puckered at the tartness before the sugar evens the taste out.

“Papa and nana live in a big house in Denver. Do you think Mister Marshal can take me there?”

“I’m sure he can,” you assured.

Lewie held out his bag with a wide, gapped-tooth smile as you added the brown candies to his hoard, he seemed just as excited to give these ones to ‘Mister Marshal’ as he has been at the prospect of picking out sweets for himself. You watched with a grin of your own as he carefully folded the bag closed several times before putting it into one of his trouser pockets.

As he did so, something caught your eye. That wasn’t strange in it itself, your store had a nice big glass window at the front that looked over the walkway and the street. So anyone passing by usually got caught in your peripheral when you were upfront.

Turning you watched as three of the men came into your store as the fourth loitered outside. The metal bell ringing sharply at the harsh treatment your door received.

“Ma’am,” the first man sneered.

It was truly interesting how one man in particular called you ‘ma’am’ and set your stomach aflutter, while this one doing to same caused you to want to shrink back in disgust. But your pa hadn’t raised you to shrink back.

You let your face go blank, hopefully, they would be quick about whatever they needed to purchase.

“What can I get you today?”

“We’re just here to collect the kid, ma’am,” the man explained as if you were a simpleton.

You just raised an imperious eyebrow in reply, however, these men knew you were not just about to give Lewie to them. But you knew their kind, give him enough silence and this was the type of person who just had to fill the silence up.

It seemed to work. The man shifted under your gaze, the realization finally dawning on him that you did not at all think his comment even was worth a reply when he clearly had expected you to instantly capitulate in the presence of three — well technically four if you counted the one on the street — rather rough-looking men. You were even less inclined to give Lewie over to them.

“We just need the kid and we’ll be on our way.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t going to happen. Damn it all, how long did it take to shoe a horse anyway?

You let Lewie hide further in your skirts as you let your hand grasp the familiar heavy wooden stock of the shotgun you kept stashed under the counter.

“Gentlemen,” you said, trying your best to keep the venom from your tone and not doing particularly well. “As far as I am aware this young man is in the care of a U.S. Marshal who will be returning for him shortly. I’m sure you can take this up with him.”

One of the other men, the big one, muttered some kind of oath, “Come on Silas, let me handle this before that marshal gets back here.” He said it looking at this Silas fellow, but you couldn’t help the twitchy way his one hand was moving. He seemed to be the kind of guy who liked to pull a pistol or throw a punch before the other person knew what was up. Oh no, you were not about to play along with this shit.

You didn’t even bother trying to keep it quiet as you slid the shotgun from its hiding place. It was an older Messenger’s gun, shorter than sporting guns, but perfect for those protecting stagecoaches or for your purposes. The double-barrel firearm was a bit heavy but you were no stranger to hefting heavy merchandise around the store so you didn’t waver as you went to point the gun at the largest of them.

“I suggest you three take your friend who’s loitering out front and be on your way,” you say firmly, settling the butt of the shotgun in your shoulder. “We don’t take kindly to badly veiled threats around here.”

“Now, now, there is no reason to get emotional,” Silas said, trying to keep your attention on him even as you noticed that the silent one had somehow drawn his pistol on you.

“I suggest you leave,” you repeated, unable to stop from glancing out front. You shouldn’t have, you were only disappointed to see the group’s four horses. The familiar silver one you so dearly wanted to see wasn’t there.

They didn’t make any moves to leave, and a tense silence rose up. It was at that moment you became rather sure that they would shoot you to take Lewie.

Panic rising in your throat, the shotgun pointing now at the man with the pistol drawn, you knew that even if you shot that one the other two would probably be able to draw and take you down. You might be a well-armed shopkeeper but you weren’t a practiced gunslinger.

As you started to despair about how you were going to get out of this situation, several things happened nearly at once.

Firstly the big man took a step towards you, at the same you heard a sound come from behind you from the storage room.

Keeping the gun pointed forward you couldn’t help but glance back through the doorway to the back, half expecting the fourth man to be there. Instead, you were met with the much more familiar sight of your marshal.

“Get down!” Din bellowed.

You did exactly that, pulling Lewie down with you behind the heavy wooden counter as a gunfight broke in your store.

The glass of your display case and then several of the jars exploded as bullets whizzed above your head. You used your body as a shield for Lewie as glass flew and candy tumbled down in a shower of colored sugar.

There was a shriek and you weren’t sure if it had been you or the kid, it was hard to tell when you could really only hear the sound of the gunshots and the ringing in your ears from the loudness of it all.

There were several shouts of some of the vilest curses you had ever heard as a few more bullets sung through the air.

You glanced up and saw Din duck behind the wall, the edge of his duster jacket trailing his movement. Several bullets hit the wood of the door frame, the flying splinters causing you to hide your face again.

The marshal must have popped back out again to return fire for you heard one of the strangers make a pained strangled curse.

There were a crash and groan of heavy metal. Looking up, you watched in horror as you saw the top pipe of your coal stove waver and then topple over out of your sight with a resounding crash. You didn’t have to see it to know that lit coals were now scattered all over your store, liable to catch something on fire.

There was more shattering glass — probably the front window, you thought slightly disconnectedly — as you heard the familiar sound of the bell on your front door.

They’re leaving, you thought with a spark of hope before what felt like a bucket of cold water when you heard the crackle of flame catching hold on something that caught flame easily.

Uneasiness filled your stomach as you started to uncurl from your cramped position.

“Shit,” Din swore as he knelt down beside you, using the counter as a protective barrier as you had. His boots crunched on the broken glass. “I came over as soon as I could, are you both okay?” The marshal asked even as you both were checking over Lewie for injuries.

Thankfully the child seemed to have been blessedly spared any physical hurt even though he was currently clinging to you like a leech as he sobbed into your chest.

“I think so,” you say to Din even as you carefully brushed off some bits of glass from Lewie’s curls. The shining shards tinkled hollowly onto the wooden floor, you felt a tickle on your cheek but you ignored it for the time being.

“I winged one in the shoulder good and their horses bolted when the first shots happened,” Marshal Djarin explained as he helped you up and escorted you and Lewie out the back, smoke starting to truly billow around you all.

The fire must have caught hold in some of the dry goods, you thought numbly. Smoke started to fill the main space, thick and grey. It made Lewie start to cough and sputter so badly that you scrambled to pull your handkerchief out to try and cover his face with.

Din’s hand was warm in its place at your mid-back, it was still a proper enough touch but it calmed you even as your eyes began to sting and water. You could hear in his voice that he didn’t think much of men who didn’t have well-trained steeds. “Gives us some time but we need to get going.”

“Stay here,” he ordered, and you noticed that he had pulled his bandana over his mouth and nose at some point as you came to the back entrance of your building. It wasn’t damp, so it would only give the marshal so much protection from the smoke that was billowing behind you, the hot crackle of flames orange on the boxes and barrels you had in this back room.

The marshal slipped outside, moving quieter and faster than you figured he could.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you kept Lewie tight to you. It wasn’t a hard thing to do with how tightly he was clinging to you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. He wasn’t crying anymore, but you knew he was still awake and rather terrified and understandably so.

You stared at the back door a bit blankly. Of course, it was unlocked, you reasoned yourself, how else would Din have been able to get inside if it hadn’t been. But… you were sure you had locked it.

Din, back from checking to make sure the coast was clear, saw your furrowed brow directly at the door before you looked to him in question.

“I thought this door had been locked,” you told him. “I must have forgotten to lock it last night.”

Din grimaced, “It… it was locked,” he admitted. “I’ll explain later, we need to go.”

Quickly guiding you outside with a hand on your elbow, you noticed that Din wasn’t watching you or Lewie so much so keeping an eye out for danger.

He whistled and then you saw Razor as the silver gelding trotted over to you all.

The horse was tense at the sound of fire now emanating from the doorway behind you.

Din was about to swing up into the saddle with a small explosion came from the front of your building.

You all stumbled further away from the building, you were barely able to keep your ankle from twisting as you fell to the ground at the small blast. The marshal was quickly back at your side, his eyes wide with surprise.

“What the hell was that?” He demanded as he pulled you back up.

Lewie had started crying again, covering his ears at the loud sounds.

You blinked, your brain seeming to be struggling through molasses at everything happening. You wanted to answer Din but you also wanted to soothe Lewie and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out how to do both at the same time.

“Um, the kerosene?” You said, more a question than an answer. You used to know where everything was in your store, why was it so hard to think about it now?

The marshal made a thoughtful noise before vaulting into the saddle, “Come on, miss.”

You were able to shake yourself awake enough to hand Lewie up into the marshal’s waiting hands before he was ready to help you up.

Taking the offered hand, you let Din pull you up. The instant your arms were around his waist, he had Razor going at a quick pace.

The motion jarred a squeak from you as your hold tightened further around the marshal. You knew that with his attention on dealing with the horse and holding onto Lewie that you were going to have to hold on to him tight if you didn’t want to be tumbling off.

As the marshal clicked a command at Razor, the horse immediately obeying, you couldn’t help but look back.

Your throat tightened at the sight. The darkening blue sky only highlighting the golden orange glow of the fire now licking upwards to the second floor of your building.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old Western Slang / Sayings / Historical tidbits
> 
> \- Dodgasted: a mild oath for “God blasted.” in use late 19c., early 20c.
> 
> \- Tunk: all-purpose euphemism for “hell, “Devil,” etc.
> 
> \- Lawsy: a mild oath expressing surprise, astonishment, or strength of feeling. Used in place of “Lord”. Circa mid-19th century
> 
> \- Penny Candies: The penny in the name penny candy is because originally the pricing was about a penny per piece (though some was sold by the pound vs by piece). The first individually wrapped and sold Penny Candy didn’t come into production until 1896 with the introduction of the Tootsie Roll.


	5. Silver City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you and the marshal regroup with what to do after the events that led to your store being burned down, plans are being made in Silver City that may hinder your little group sooner than later.

Razor was as surefooted a horse that you had ever seen or had the pleasure of riding. The mustang blood in him came out to shine as he kept up with the pace the marshal demanded. 

Your nerves had eased a bit, though not much. The ride and being pressed against the warm back of another human being had been grounding after the events of this afternoon and evening. To be sure you were still aghast to literally have watched as your father’s life’s work — your life’s work — had been so easily sent up in flames behind you. You had felt like Lot’s wife looking back on your old life burning to the ground, but you hadn’t been turned into salt. No, instead you were now making camp with a U.S. Marshal who you had known for around two years, but did you actually know him?

If you had been asked that the last time you saw him you might have had an answer, that Marshal Din Djarin was well mannered, good looking, generally good at his job, rather reckless, a bit of a surprise flirt, and his horse seemed to really like him. Now though? Now it felt like you didn’t much of the man at all as you watched him settle little Lewie down for the night.

The fire that had been lit earlier was a bit hot for the warmth of the night. Even as the black blanket had been pulled over the sky, the stars bright in their usual spots, the leftover heat still rose up from the ground. But even with the additional heat, you couldn’t bring yourself to move too far away from the fire. The pool of light it threw out around your little group felt like the only safe place in the world at the moment. 

Lewie had dozed off, one chubby hand clutching onto the stuffed elephant toy that Din had pulled from the saddlebag when you all had stopped for the night. The child’s little body curled up and tucked into the marshal’s side.

Even still, there were things you needed to discuss, and you figured this quiet moment with only you adults being awake was as good a time as any to speak up.

“So…” you trailed off, unsure how to continue despite having tried to think of how one had a conversation with a man who had both saved you from danger yet also apparently whose presence was, in part, cause of that same danger.

The marshal had the good graces to look abashed as he poked at the fire. It had been small and already was dying down into blackened charcoal, grey and crackling on the inside with the warm orange. The light it gave off was a dull gold and only lengthened the shadows of Din’s face as you watched him for another moment.

“Marshal,” you tried again, keeping your voice low and even to not disturb the child currently curled up and sleeping in Din’s lap, but inside your guts churned with anger and worry and fear. “Seeing as whatever is going on got my shop and home burnt down I really feel I am owed some explanation as to what the devil is going on.”

Din grimaced, but nodded. He wasn’t about to try and minimize what had happened today, and that in itself was an odd comfort. He wasn’t going to brush you off.

Taking a steadying breath, you continued, “I know you implied that something happened with the gang and Lewie’s… parents. But that doesn’t explain what happened today, why would those men want to take him? How did they know where you were?”

The furrow between his brows deepened, “I’ve been asking myself the ‘why’ and I don’t have a damned clue.”

He looked back down to his self-appointed sleeping charge, the concern plain on his face even in the low light. 

“I’d figured that maybe it was some sort of robbery gone wrong, that they didn’t know what to do with the kid when things went south but… I don’t know if that sits right anymore. The, how, though…” he lip curled in disdain, “I’m rather sure the sheriff in Pine Bluff has something to do with it, probably was on the gang’s take at the very least.”

“But if a sheriff is involved, we surely need to report him,” you state, your mind already a whirl with this new information. “Perhaps in Silver City?”

The marshal nudged a stone with the toe of his boot, the action highlighting the shape of the leg under his trouser as the fabric tightened and shifted over the limb. The sight almost distracted you from his next words.

“I don’t think that would be wise,” he said, his steady fingers scratching at his chin and jaw in thought.

“And… why is that?”

“Well, I’m rather sure that the sheriff in Pine Bluff didn’t give me the full reward for the gang so he would know what my next move is going to be. The rest of the reward was to be picked up in Silver City, and you know my current uh… lack of funds. I got part of the reward, but the rest?” Din waved his hand to the south-east, towards where you knew Silver City lay some miles away. “I have the feeling going straight there will only get us tied up in an ambush.”

You nodded in understanding, your mind already working on the question that the marshal surely was also pondering. What did the three of you do now? Where did you go? Neither of you knew why such evil and unlawful men were after a child so desperately that they would have a gunfight in your store with a lawman and literally burn your home to the ground.

There was nowhere you could go at the moment but with Marshal Djarin at this point, and honestly? You were sort of afraid to leave him. The store could be rebuilt, but if those men came again to your doorstep? You shuddered to think what would have happened if Din hadn’t arrived when he had. Everything had just disintegrated so quickly when you and Lewie had been having a grand ol’ time just moments before.

“Marshal?” You start out hesitantly as you looked into the dancing flames. You were still turning over in your mind the little bits you had been able to talk to Lewie about himself, surely there must be something in that you both could use.

You looked up quickly, blinking against the darkness when he called your name softly, his tone encouraging you to continue.

“I was just…” your brow furrowed in thought as you were able to focus back on his form, “Lewie mentioned that he has grandparents who live in Denver. I was thinking…”

“We could take him there,” Din finished for you.

“Maybe they will know what is happening as well?”

“They might,” the marshal agreed. “We could jump past Silver City entirely, get some supplies in that little mining town that is a couple of days out by horse, then we can pick up the train line in Willow Spring…” he trailed off when you interrupted with a yawn that you tried to cover up with your hand.

“Lawsy, my apologizes,” you say, surprised at the violence of the yawn.

“Nothing to apologize for, I’ve kept you up and today’s been… a long day.”

You snorted, “Indeed it has been a long day, Marshal.”

He shifted and got up before picking Lewie up.

The child muttered slightly at being disturbed, but settled when the marshal murmured something into the little one’s hair.

“Can you take him a moment?” Din asked.

You nodded and accepted the sleeping child, amazed at how deeply asleep Lewie was. The kid instinctively curled into your warmth, his cheek pillowing against your chest.

The marshal chuckled softly, an easy affection right at the surface of his face even though he still looked rather drawn and tired. 

“Sleeps like the dead,” the marshal spoke softly.

You watched as he set out a bedroll on a nice enough spot on the ground, his movements well-practiced.

“Here, you both can bed down on this for the night.”

You hummed in assent, more than ready to get some rest.

Din had the bedding set up for you and Lewie in short order, and you couldn’t help but give a few glances in his direction as he did so. After all, this was the same man you had known for some time, yet… somehow it felt like you were now linked in some way that you had shared terror, a horse, and a campfire, and the job of keeping an innocent child from harm together.

Bedding down, it took only moments before sleep already was pulling you into its embrace as you snuggled Lewie closer into you. 

“Where are sleeping?” You asked as you realized that you and Lewie were probably using Din’s only bedroll. After all, he probably didn’t normally travel with more than he needed which would be the single one. 

“Right here,” he said, jerking his head towards the leather saddle that he had taken off Razor earlier. 

“Marshal, you can’t be serious,” you protest.

“To be frank, miss, I’ve bunked down in much worse accommodations than sleeping with my saddle as a pillow,” Din said, with more good humor than you probably would have, as he started to bank the fire. 

He glanced over to you and frowned slightly at your still worried face, “I’ll be fine, now get some rest we’re going to get an early start tomorrow.”

You nodded, brushing a hand over Lewie’s curls again. The action perhaps more to soothe yourself then the sleeping child. Even with the bedroll, you were rather sure you were going to have a long night. But your body and mind surprised you, only letting you listen to the sound of the breeze in the grasses, and Razor giving a quiet nicker not far off before you slipped into slumber.

~*~

Silver City had been aptly named. The town had popped up out of an old train tent city when the silver mines in the area had been found some odd five years ago or so. Tens of millions of silver bullion had been pulled out of the earth since then and didn’t seem to have yet slowed. There were plenty of jobs to be had at the two largest mining outfits, and then other smaller claims that were worked as well.

The tent city, full of unwashed miners, and cowboys had sprouted into some half-built shacks and then the buildings had really started to be built up. Practically overnight, it had seemingly become one of the fastest-growing metropolitan cities on this side of Denver. They had 3 saloons, 10 gambling halls, a goodly number of brothels and dance halls, two banks, three newspapers, a school, three churches, an ice house, and even an opera house — called Harwood Hall — where all the society of the town would gather for formal functions.

Colm Reed, was not one to be attending such high society occasions. Indeed, he hadn’t even been much for visiting Silver City at late, on account of his face being on the occasional wanted poster. It was just more heat than he had ever signed up for. But that couldn’t be helped now, with the rest of the gang dead and the sheriff wanting to be no bigger part in this whole thing than he already was, well that left just Colm to report to the man who was currently keeping him waiting.

He cursed as he sat in the plush, tufted chair in the custom Pullman, or more aptly the parlor of the car. The man was rich as Midas, Reed had to give him that much. The interior of the luxury train car was all shining warm mahogany paneling and delicate carving that he hadn’t much seemed the like of before, and bright brass fittings for the lighting fixtures. Deep burgundy and green floral-looking carpet covered the floor softening the space, unlike any train cars Reed had traveled in with their plain wooden floors. While the surprisingly high curved ceilings were painted in a shade of mossy green and delicate gilt and plaster-work mirrored the designs of the woodwork below. It was all opulent and had probably cost more to fit the room than Colm Reed would earn or steal in his whole life.

The secretary scuttled back into the area Colm was seated. The thin man looked rather dismayed at seeing him sprawled out on the green velvet chair and the outlaw couldn’t help but smirk before the pain the action caused tore across his face. Even with that damn expensive salve he has purchased, the wounds were not seeming to be healing right and they burned like hell when he got too expressive. Even last night he must have been scratching at them in his sleep, tearing at the tender scabs until his fingernails were bloody and his face was left looking like raw meat when he had finally woken up.

“Mr. Tate is ready to see you now,” the secretary said. He continued to look at Colm with a mild look of undisguised disgust through his wire-framed glasses, whether it was over Colm’s face or the fact that he looked and smelled like he had been on the range for several weeks wasn’t easily determinable.

Colm got up with a grunt and brushed past the man as he held back a scowl at this city boy. He might not have as much book learning as this man did, but like most people, Colm Reed could tell when he was being judged with a critical eye.

He went through the indicated hallway at the back of the parlor area, pushing back a swag of heavy velvet curtain. There was a dining room he made his way through, full of a large gleaming wood table set with fine linen, gilt china with a fancy looking monogram design on each piece, and sparkling crystal glasses. It looked as if there was to be a fine supper later this evening.

A harried-looking steward glared at him as they bustled by with heavy silver cutlery in hand, clearly not having time for the likes of him.

But that left the next room, Mr. Tate’s study or so it appeared.

The woodwork continued in here, with bookshelves on two of the walls while paintings in gold frames alternated between the windows along the sides of the train car. In the middle of the room was a substantial wood desk, where Mr. Tate sat going over a ledger in pen in hand, several land maps were piled to his side onto of the desk.

The man had curly hair of black that — though it looked to be going grey — had been combed back and tamed with a thick pomade, and a mustache that was just as exactingly kept. He didn’t even look up at Colm, when he came in so the outlaw was left standing awkwardly, unable to ignore the display of some fancy hunting guns with exotic woods and silver chased designs and curving saber that Colm figured was a ceremonial cavalry sword from how much fancy work was in the hilt of brass.

“Well, don’t keep me waiting, man. I assume things have gone wrong since you aren’t either of the Henson brothers,” Mr. Tate said, even as his dark eyes continued to regard his work, not bothering to look up.

Colm started at the words, having been caught gawking. 

He related the happenings of the past several days, the more he talked the more disconcerted he got over Mr. Tate’s apparently blasé manner. The man didn’t even so much as look up at him from whatever he was writing, even when he related the unintended end to the Durant couple. Well… related most of it at least. No need to make himself look worse when it really didn’t matter how his now dead compatriots were viewed. 

By the time he came to the end of his tale, with how the posse who had been sent after the damned marshal had come back shot up and one left at the doctor’s place in Shady Rock with glass all in one of his arms, Colm wasn’t sure what else he could relate so he just stood there, feeling awkward and ungainly as a young colt.

Mr. Tate tapped the excess ink from his pen into the engraved silver ink fountain that sat upon his desk and finished whatever he had been writing with a flourish. Dark eyes finally looking up and swept over the outlaw in a way that seemed to calculate what he was worth down to the pennies his buttons might sell for.

“Well, Mr. Reed, it seems as if you and your… recently departed associates have just made one failure after another in this endeavor I have been paying handsomely for.”

Colm opened his mouth to protest, but the cold glare Mr. Tate sent him had him snapping his mouth shut. It was like looking into the eyes of a gator, or perhaps a cougar might be better a description. There was something behind those eyes that was cold and hard but also… deadly, like a trap ready to be sprung.

Mr. Tate, blinked once and then the look was hidden under the veil of a casual smile.

“But I think you are someone, who is willing to correct the errors of the past, and I am a forgiving man when I want to be. I would so like to have our business conclude with all parties satisfied, wouldn’t you, Mr. Reed?”

“Y-yes sir, Mr. Tate,” Colm stuttered out but Mr. Tate was already to the next subject.

“You said that this… Marshal Djarin, that he has the boy and also took a woman with him?”

Colm blinked, “Yeah, the general store owner in Shady Grove. Silas in the posse talked with the locals before everything happened there and sounds like the marshal always stops in at her store when he is in town, sweet on her or some shit.”

The clock on the bookshelf behind Mr. Tate’s ticked loudly as the seated man thought for a moment.

“Well, it is just terrible news to hear of a U.S. Marshal has not only kidnapped an innocent child but also a hardworking and upstanding woman after slaughtering a group of men who had surrendered to go in peacefully with him. I wonder what my dear friends in the sheriff’s office in this fine town will have to say about that.”

It took Colm just a moment to catch on and then he smirked despite the pain that pulled over his face.

“A damn shame sir, a damn shame.”

Mr. Tate nodded, got out a piece of paper and wrote some lines in dark ink, and let it dry a moment before folding it up.

Handing the note to Colm, Mr. Tate gave him instructions. 

“Take this to Sheriff Hogan, he’ll be at the Perot gambling hall this time of the day. Tell him Gideon Tate needs to speak with him at his soonest availability concerning his job at keeping this territory lawful and safe.”

~*~

The waning moon hung over the night sky, tilted in a way as if it was precarious in its lofty position.

It had been some days since the happenings in Shady Rock, and the figure on lone horseback had been trying to make up the time. There had been some false starts, the mistakes of a rookie really, but it was all starting to come together, the apparent empty vastness of the prairie giving up clues the longer they had ridden.

Reining in his horse, and the man smirked. There was the dull light of a fire in the distance.

He had caught up with his quarry.

Sliding from the saddle, he proceeded to check the pistol at his side. If he could take them in without hurting anyone that would be preferable, but seeing as the paper in his bag — the ink barely dry when he had snatched it up — had said “Dead or Alive”? Well, if shit went south? He didn’t really mind being the one to be putting the now ex-marshal down tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old Western Slang / Sayings / Historical tidbits
> 
> Lawsy: a mild oath expressing surprise, astonishment, or strength of feeling. Used in place of “Lord”. Circa mid-19th century
> 
> The Denver Pacific Railway: formed in 1867 in the Colorado Territory, the company operated lines in Colorado and present-day southeastern Wyoming in the 1870s. The railroad was formed primarily to create a link between Denver and the transcontinental railroad at Cheyenne, Wyoming, an achievement that was widely credited at the time with making Denver the dominant metropolis of the region
> 
> Silver City: while the Silver City in this fic did not exist I did take some inspiration from other wealthy mining towns such as Tombstone, AZ, and have Silver City with a comparable population to there. And while the gambling hall number might seem large at 10 for Silver City, I actually cut it down from the 14 that Tombstone had in its heyday. But for the purpose of this story, I am setting the town along the DP Railway line within the Colorado Territory between the stops in the real town stops in Willow Spring and Big Spring.
> 
> Pullman Train Cars: Founded in 1867, the Pullman Company produced many railroad car types, from dining cars, parlor cars, freight cars, and luxury private cars. The private cars (not including the furnishings) could cost upwards of $20,000 back then which would be around $800,000 to a million today, and could take up to 4 years to be completed and would be the time period’s equivalent to private jets of today.


End file.
